


Malia and Isaac's Wild Adventures

by mellowheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, I swear, M/M, Malia and Isaac Are Purely Platonic, background sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 20:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowheart/pseuds/mellowheart
Summary: When Isaac comes back to Beacon Hills, he meets Malia Tate at a pack meeting. Many shenanigans occur - some legal, some not.





	Malia and Isaac's Wild Adventures

            **It was nice to know** that three years after Isaac left Beacon Hills, the waitress at his favorite restaurant remembered his usual order. Allison Argent had been his best friend since the day Scott McCall and his pack noticed him during sophomore year, so if she hadn’t known his favorite burger by memory, he would’ve felt very betrayed; especially since they’d texted, Skyped, and called each other the entire time he was gone. But Isaac had always harbored a love for dramatics, so he decided to surprise her at her job - BH Palace, home of juicy burgers and pretty employees (Scott included).

            He didn’t know if he was back for good, but it’d been years since he’d stepped onto the familiar grounds of Beacon Hills, California; the town, although wreaked with supernatural havoc and agonizing remembrances of his abusive father, was home. And he missed his friends. After being bitten by Derek Hale and being introduced to a world that Isaac initially regarded as child’s play, he found himself engulfed in the refreshing friendship of members of both the Hale and McCall pack - the beta had had friends earlier in his life, but his mother’s death had changed things for him. The grief had broke him down - still did, sometimes - and he began to push the people he used to be friendly with away. Mrs. Lahey (formerly Darla King) was a bag of Happiness; not a worn, limp sack filled with his memories about her, but a sack made out of the richest fabric, embroidered with the roses she used to plant in her garden and the soft, golden tresses of her hair - it was an invention so lovely that it had to be Hephaestus-made, so when he studied Greece in the multiple history classes he signed up for, he gave a silent “thank you” to the gods...wherever they were. He knew it was silly, for they were nothing more than myth, but after seeing creatures of claw and fang and the pale, foreboding pallor of Stiles Stilinski’s skin when the nogitsune had possessed his body, he decided he’d take a chance.

            For Isaac Lahey, Happiness was the high lilt of his mother’s voice, the facetious edge of her snark and sarcasm, the snap of her venomous tongue when she was infuriated and the saccharine tinge of her words when she rocked him to sleep as a child and comforted him through his sad moments. Happiness was her hatred for mornings that promised responsibility and adoration for nights that whispered of satisfying dinners and the heavy eyelids that preceded sleep; she was a forest of quirks and flaws and mysteries, the hero of every story. Isaac could write novels about her if he felt the desire to. He remembered when he used to regard his father in the same manner; those details were too painful to reflect on.

            To be brusque, his father was the villain of every story. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a menace when the opportunity struck. Mr. Lahey, a tall, looming, and snickering shadow that lingered in the back of his mind, was the fucking worst. He was the Kanima, the Alpha Pack, and the nogitsune lumped into a pretty package that feigned innocence and a reserved demeanor when faced with the general public. When he wasn’t throwing glasses near Isaac’s head, he was judging every scuff of his feet, looking down the top of his long nose with hatred.

            So when the beta willed for his mother to come back to life, he willed for the fatherly love that would come with her resurrection. Luckily, for him, he found love in his best friends, even if that love was in the pesky, obnoxious form of Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s partner-in-crime, or Lydia Martin, the mean girl who’d rejected him when he’d asked her out; it was probably for the best, for he realized he was gay about two weeks after the incident.

            The trauma that tormented his thoughts and his unrelenting anxiety when surrounded by a world of supernatural beings was what made him want to move away from Beacon Hills, if only for a little while. And his crush on Scott didn’t seem to be going anywhere, considering the way he looked at Kira Yukimura. He couldn’t blame him, really - she was pretty and carried a katana. Who wouldn’t fall for a girl like that? The werewolf was confident that Scott loved him, too, but that was a tome of teenage angst he wasn’t in the mood to crack open, even if it was a juicy romance novel that would fly to the top of the New York Times’ Bestseller list. (The fangirls of the Internet would go nuts.) Despite the feelings they shared for each other, Isaac began to tire of the jealousy that tinted his soul green every time he saw the alpha and the kitsune exchange kisses in the hallway; his lovesick heart had ached so deeply that he had briefly considered getting a katana. If it weren’t for Derek’s sturdy “no” when Isaac asked for money to buy “groceries,” he would’ve gone through with it.

            Looking back, Isaac should’ve thought that excuse out; he and the alpha had gone grocery shopping two days before the exchange, and, unfortunately for the beta, Derek wasn’t an idiot. He was, however, an idiot for ever thinking Scott “Closet Case” McCall would return Isaac’s feelings anytime soon. Thankfully, Isaac’s jealousy of Scott and Allison’s puppy love during sophomore year was for naught, for the girl apparently made it very clear as to why their relationship couldn’t work.

            The beta remembered when Scott told him about it, on a quiet Saturday night, the television mumbling in the background, secondary to their conversation. They sat on the space of floor in front of the alpha’s bed, facing each other with an open box of pizza between their crossed legs. Living with Scott was a series of these kinds of moments - the intimacy of them made them almost feel like dates; in other words, Isaac had severely lowered his date standards, because if he wasn’t so desperate, he would ask for at least a bouquet of roses (or hydrangeas, they’d complement his eyes really well - speaking of which, he had nice eyes, like...really nice eyes. The fact that Scott didn’t want to date someone with those kind of eyes was a mystery.)

            When the pale, skinny ball of energy that was Stiles wasn’t there to throw out sarcastic remarks and basically ruin the fun with his Star Wars references and general obnoxiousness, Scott and Isaac mostly talked and ate food; they complained about school work, talked about their day, and overall just enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes the conversation went so off the rail of normalcy that they’d end up doing things like having competitions to see who could perform the best impersonations of their friends (Isaac’s Derek impersonation was spot on, but Scott’s Stiles impersonation was Oscar-worthy). On that night, the two decided to order pizza - with the permission of Scott’s mother, of course - and argued over toppings for ten minutes. The other boy had wanted pineapple along with pepperoni, and because Isaac wasn’t a demon, he’d decided to compromise and order the pizza half topped with pineapple. He wasn’t touching that sad excuse for a pizza topping because he had standards, god dammit.

            The Pizza Debate was pretty much a tradition at that point.

            “So she texts me,” Scott mumbled around a bite, pushing the food into the right side of his mouth so he could speak a bit clearer. “And asks me to come over.”

            He stared into space pensively for a second, the thick crust dangling from his graceful fingers. Isaac flicked his eyes from his half eaten slice to sneak another peek at the other’s appearance during that short span of silence; Scott was all lean muscle, his broad shoulders accentuated by his white muscle shirt. It had made him want to run his fingers over the boy’s biceps, to feel his smooth, light brown skin.

            Scott swallowed and dropped the crust into the empty area of the box, running his fingers through a tousled mass of black hair. “Then when we get to her room, she sits down with me and says, and I quote, ‘This isn’t going to work out.’”

            Isaac sat up straighter, his brows shooting up and the pizza in his hand suddenly forgotten. “Go on.”

            “She said it couldn’t work out because she’d figured out that she only liked girls, which is fine, you know,” he said with a shrug, leaning his chin on his fist. “I’m happy for her, I’m flattered that she trusted me enough to tell me, but...it just kinda stings. I really liked her...still do.”

            “Huh,” Isaac mused, furrowing his eyebrows together. “I wonder why she wouldn’t tell me.”

            “Yeah,” Scott responded, and then his dark brown eyes widened to the size of saucers, making him look more puppy-like than usual. “Wait.”

            “What?”

            He covered his face abruptly, creating a loud smacking noise when his hands make contact.”I shouldn’t have told you that, I shouldn’t have told you that, she’s gonna kill me with her favorite crossbow-”

            The blond scoffed, his eyes rolling up into his head as he took another bite of his slice, pleased by the cheesy taste. “Relax, Scott. I won’t tell a soul.” He leaned forward, holding his pinky out. “Pinky swear.”

            “Pinky swear?” Scott responded suspiciously, his hands moving down his face to reveal a worried look in his eyes.

            He took one of Scott’s hands, folding down the rest of the fingers so only his pinky was sticking up, and hooked their pinkies together. “Pinky swear.”

*

            **TWO HOURS BEFORE ISAAC WENT TO BH PALACE**

            He’d already gotten an apartment in Beacon Hills before he bought his plane tickets, a stout building with a long, winding black staircase leading up to the front door. The route from Nantes to his hometown was lengthy, and Isaac was already starting to regret sleeping so much, because the jet lag was killer. There was sweat in the most uncomfortable places, and his hair was disheveled and clumpy, something he was not used to in the slightest; despite his superior strength, there were aches entrenched in random spots of his arms. He was ready to beat the record for Most Showers Taken In One Night, because he would rather drop dead than let the pack see him in such a bedraggled state.

            The werewolf stood in front of the apartment for a minute, glaring at the set of stairs that looked colossal in his current condition. Every step would feel like there was someone stabbing nails in the soles of his feet, so instead of going into the small building, he dropped his suitcases and sighed, craning his neck backwards to look up at the night sky. Stars decorated the black canvas like Christmas lights, and the wind that curled through his hair and laid its cool touch on his skin made him feel cleaner, somehow. He sat on the first step of the staircase, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. 7:32 PM, he read at the top of the screen. June 6th. Plenty of time to shower and see Allison before her shift was over. Texts from Sarah and Victoria, friends he’d made in France, lined his screen.

 **Vic**  
**2 min ago**  
_Est-ce que tu vas bien? Are you in California yet?_

 **Sarah**  
**10 min ago**  
_Isaac!_

_Isaaaac_

_Have you been mauled by the Beast of Gevauden? Please say no, mon cheri._

            Isaac subconsciously combed his fingers through the curls that rested on his forehead, smiling down at the texts and answering them quickly, reassuring the two that he was safe and sound. He clicked his phone off and stuffed it back in his pocket, licking his chapped lips before glancing down the left and right sides of the street. There was his car by the curb and the luminescent yellow of the windows that peeked from almost every house on the street; with the extensive hearing given to the lycanthropy, he could hear every rustle of the night, from the chirping of crickets to the pitter-patter of a cat’s paws. Although having sharp hearing could get annoying or even painful sometimes - especially in the days where he got chased by hunters armed with harmful tools - moments like these where he could hear the soft rush of the wind and the trickling of water from sprinklers made it all worth it.

            He grabbed a hold of his bags and sighed of relief, realizing that whatever made him ache was healed. Then he turned around to face the stairs, rolled his shoulders back and ascended them.

*  
            Showers really do work wonders.

            This was proven by the warmth and cleanliness that exuded from every one of his pores, as well as the comfort he felt now that his hair was up to par. Since it was night time, the beta figured it would be socially acceptable to wear pajamas to BH Palace, arguably the best burger joint in Beacon City. When he pushed open the transparent door to the diner, the ding! that alerted the employees that a customer had entered rang in his ears. While it probably would’ve sounded soft to the humans there, it sounded clear as a bell to Isaac, and the familiar odors of meat being grilled, the salt added to fries, and the sweeter scent of the ice cream machine filled his nostrils; it made his heart happy and his stomach yearn for food - actual food, not the astronaut-esque monstrosity that was the selection of food on airplanes.

            Isaac pulled his hood off his head, stepping forward onto the checkered tile, marred with spills and dried food here and there. It was fairly busy at this time, the majority of the shiny red booths along the edges of the room filled with families, teenagers, and the occasional old couple; in the center was an arrangement of tables that matched the booths in color, people filling the black chairs. Waiters milled among the customers, scribbling on notepads and smiling with the congeniality that was required of BH Palace employees. He would know - he’d worked there before.

            His eyes flickered around, zeroing in on a booth in the corner, covered by a lot more shade than the other booths. It’d been his favorite spot for as long as he could remember. He walked toward the table before anyone could make themselves home there, sliding into the booth and bouncing a little on the cushioned seat; as a teenager, he would sulk in this booth, brooding over the teenage problems that ricocheted off the walls of his teenage mind.

            _Good times_ , Isaac thought sardonically, not bothering to acknowledge the menu. He knew what he wanted, and if Allison was his waitress, she would, too.

            As if on cue, he caught sight of a tall brunette, who was tying an apron behind her back with a bored expression on her face. Allison’s hair was longer now, nowhere near her original length but enough to tie into two short pigtails, which rested on her shoulder blades; her bangs fanned her forehead, hiding her eyes from view when she looked down to smooth down the front of the apron. When she looked back up, she slightly rolled her head back, the bangs pushing higher on her forehead in a casual gesture. He was probably grinning like a maniac, but he couldn’t care less - Isaac hadn’t seen his best friend in years, and the excitement hummed through his veins let him know that he missed her a lot more than he thought he did.

            Allison looked around slowly, most likely trying to see if anyone needed her help; when her eyes landed on his, she gasped, covering her mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding her notepad. Letting out a squeal loud enough for the entire block to hear, she ran towards his booth, seemingly not caring about the judgmental glances thrown her way. He slid out from the booth fast enough to catch her when she landed in his arms, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight grip.

            “Isaac!” Allison squealed, a bubbly laugh escaping her throat.

            Isaac laughed, rubbing circles on her back. “Hey, Ally. How’s it going?”

            She pulled away from the hug and punched his arm (for the sake of his ego, he pretended like it didn’t hurt a little), all dimples and pretty brown eyes. “You dick, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back to Beacon?”

            He held out his hands defensively. “Hey, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if-”

            “Oh, my God,” she interrupted with a newfound interest lighting up her features, putting a hand on his upper arm - right over the area where she’d playfully punched him. “Say that again.”

            Isaac cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head in question. “What I was about to say - before you rudely interrupted me - was that it wouldn’t have been a surprise if I’d told you I was coming back ahead of time.”

            Allison waggled her eyebrows, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Ooh, a _surprise_?”

            He furrowed his eyebrows, not quite understanding what she was getting at. Yes, a surprise - that’s what he just said. It wasn’t that hard to figure -

            Isaac’s mouth popped open in shock, suddenly offended.

            “Are you mocking my accent, Allison Argent?” he inquired, his eyes squinting into a glare.

            “Am I _mocking_ your _accent_ , Isaac Lahey?” the girl said with a French lilt to her words. “ _Non_ , not at all.”

            “Ha, ha,” Isaac said as he sat back down into the booth, his smile laced with sarcasm. “You’re so funny, what a hoot you are.”

            She ignored the snark, pulling a pen from the pocket of her apron and clicking it once. “I know, right? Anyway, what do you want? Your usual order?”

            “Obviously.”

            “Alright,” Allison responded, scribbling his order onto her pad. “I’ll get your drinks for you.”

            Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Allison once again, who was pointing at him with a dangerous look in her eye.

            “If you don’t tip me, I’ll put the tip of my sharpest arrowhead in one of your favorite shoes. You’ve been warned, pretty boy.”

            Instead of entertaining that threat with a response, he winked. And when she smiled warmly at him, starting to walk away, the werewolf felt the strong urge to hug her again.

*  
            If it weren’t for Allison’s phone call, Isaac would’ve slept in the next morning. He would’ve melted into the white sheets and pillows of his new bed like someone cosplaying a marshmallow, and slept off every ounce of exhaustion in his body; and if he would’ve woken up earlier by chance, he would’ve hid his face from the blinding sunlight, hummed in satisfaction at the silence, and gone back to sleep. He either would’ve woken up at a normal time and ate a hearty breakfast that consisted of Pop-Tarts and orange juice, or he would’ve slept the day away - in that case, he would’ve hated himself for getting up at 4PM, but he wouldn’t regret it in the slightest.

            That was how life worked on the weekends, or special cases like this where he was still tired from his flight. A doctor would’ve told him that perhaps Allison calling him in the morning was for the best, since lying in bed all day wasn’t particularly healthy. If the beta cared about health, he would’ve answered the phone groggily but politely. But he didn’t care, so he poked an arm out of his pillow-blanket habitat, smacked his hand around the bedside table until he came into contact with his phone, and answered it in the most classy way possible.

            “What the _fuck_ do you want?” Isaac snapped.

            Allison snorted out a laugh. “Uh, we have our pack meeting today, remember? I told you about it last night, when we were eating and catching up and stuff.”

            Isaac moaned in exasperation, lifting the pillow off his head and putting his head on top of it. He tapped the speaker phone option on the screen and held it near his mouth, rubbing his eye; he couldn’t stay mad at her, not when she was a bubble of positivity. “Al, I love you and everything, but why are we having a pack meeting in the morning? Like no offense, but when I think of scary monsters that want to kill us, I don’t imagine them initiating their assassination attempts in the morning. It’s just an inconvenience for all parties involved.”

            “Relax, it’s not that type of pack meeting,” Allison responded, and the werewolf could picture her eye roll. “We haven’t had a meeting like that in about a year. It’s been pretty peaceful in Beacon Hills - not that you would know, being gone for three years and everything.”

            His reply consisted of something that sounded mostly like a grunt, with a “shut up” slipped in. 

            “Anyway,” she continued. “Scott figured that since everyone was on summer vacation after their first year of college, it would be nice to meet up again. For a pack reunion. It just so happens that you have perfect timing, with your surprise visit and all.”

            “And what are we gonna do, braid each other’s hair?” Isaac mumbled, purposely ignoring the way his heart clenched at the mention of Scott.

            “I was thinking we could go check out the shops at Beacon Square after hanging out at Scott’s house for a bit, but now you’re giving me ideas,” Allison mused. “I’ll tell Lydia to bring her makeup and some hair brushes, don’t worry.”

            “I was kidding.”

            There must’ve been the most smug smirk on her face. “I wasn’t.”

            The boy puffed out a half-hearted laugh, his initial annoyance beginning to ebb away. “Yeah, well, I don’t thinking the braiding part would work out for me - not everyone can have your princess hair.”

            “Princess hair?” Allison scoffed. “You’re the one with shiny golden locks, Romeo. Anyway, like I said, don’t worry about it - wigs were made for people like you, you know.”

            Isaac sat up, stretching his arms into the air with a guttural groan and squeezing his eyes shut, breathing in. The day already felt as long as the Eiffel.

            His best friend went silent for a moment. “You’re not masturbating, are you? Because if that’s the case-”

            “ _No_ , Jesus Christ,” he replied, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “I was just stretching. That’s what normal people do when they’re, you know, woken up at an ungodly hour.”

            “It’s 9AM, princess Lahey - that’s hardly an ungodly hour...And I don’t know why you’re snapping at me when the one you should be snapping at is Scott - he’s the one who chose to do it in the morning.”

            Isaac snorted. Of course he did - he’d always been a morning person, the type to smile brighter than the sun and cook extravagant breakfasts. Sometimes it was cute, but other times, it was annoying as all hell. “What time should I be there?”

*  
            The werewolf almost strangled himself with the scarf wrapped around his neck when he saw how many cars were in front of the McCall house. He almost strangled himself again when he realized that the Stilinski kid had taken his favorite parking spot, which meant he had to resort to parking behind all the other cars lined up on the street...like some heathen.

            There was a lot more warmth in the air as contrasted to last night, which shouldn’t have surprised him but did...just a little bit. He felt the weather when he stepped out of his apartment, and now its influence was spreading through his car. Adjusting to California weather would be quite the challenge, and somewhat disappointing; he loved to wear sweaters, had been wearing them most of his time in Nantes, and the sweltering heat meant he wouldn’t be able to wear his scarves - or would be able to, but with much mockery from the pack. And when he said “the pack,” he meant Stiles.

            Through the window, he saw the infamous house, looming and forcing every memory of Scott into his head at once. It was a tan color, with white trimming and open windows, shadowy figures moving around; trimmed bushes nestled the front of the house, everything about the area familiar as ever. A powder blue Jeep sat in the driveway, right next to Ms. McCall’s - Melissa’s - car; when his eyes traveled around more, he caught sight of the rest of the pack’s cars, and a truck he didn’t recognize. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought he never left Beacon Hills.

            Isaac pushed aside his nerves and opened the car door, stepping out of his car and closing the door behind him. Then he made his way to the front door, knocking his knuckles on the painted wood three times. Immediately, the door swung open, and suddenly Scott was right there, a wide grin stretched across his face. His muscles were prominent than usual in his t-shirt; he was taller - not quite the same height as Isaac, but damn near it - with the same heartbreaking grin.

            _Fuck._

            Scott froze, the smile slipping off his face and his eyes widening. “Isaac?”

            “What’s up?” Isaac greeted, smirking at his reaction.

            “I-” The other boy tilted his head, laughing in disbelief and throwing his hands upwards. “You should’ve been in here, like _yesterday_ , dude, oh my god, let me move out of the fucking way.”

            The alpha stepped to the side, giving Isaac a wide enough space to walk inside. As soon as Scott closed the door behind him, the beta was practically tackled by Allison, for the second time since they’d reunited.

            “Who are you again?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

            She pulled back from the embrace and back handed his arm. “Shut up.”

            Over Allison’s shoulder, he caught sight of the pack sitting in the living room, although the staircase covered most his view. Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the area. The girl shouldered past them, plopping down on the couch right as Stiles came from the door frame that led to the kitchen, several bags of chips cradled in his arms. He gasped in the most dramatic way and if it weren’t for Kira grabbing the snacks from his arms, Stiles’ flailing would’ve had major consequences.

            “Isaac! The Big I!” he exclaimed, and started towards the werewolf.

            Isaac held up a hand in front of himself. “Do not touch me.”

            Stiles leaned back with one of the most offended looks he’d ever seen, and before he got the chance to retaliate, the beta waved at Kira and moved into the living room. He heard a scoff behind him, followed by Scott’s loud laugh.

            “French prick,” he heard Stiles grumble.

            Isaac chuckled, scanning the familiar gathering of people lounging on the various couches. He would never admit it, but he’d missed Stiles too; he’d had no one to make fun of back in Nantes, and he would definitely take advantage of Stiles’ presence. As expected, Erica Reyes and Lydia Martin gave him the warmest hugs, Erica interrogating him about everything she could think of and Lydia listening closely to his answers, a keen eye checking him out for any differences. Boyd and Derek remained in their seats, the former smiling at him in his kind, reserved way while the latter looked indifferent; the other alpha couldn’t fool him though - he’d caught the flicker of surprise that alighted his green eyes when Isaac had entered the room.

            Erica put her manicured hands on his shoulder, her brown eyes practically staring into his soul. “Please tell me you got some French dick.”

            The redhead snorted, and Stiles chose that moment to walk past them with Scott, crossing his eyes and letting out an exaggerated gagging noise. Everything about the mole-spotted boy was exaggerated, from his gestures to his voice to the sprout of brown hair on his head; he lived and breathed exaggeration. Isaac was still convinced that Derek dated him for his body and mostly tolerated everything else. Stiles sat on Derek’s lap and, as if hearing Isaac’s thoughts, promptly flipped him off. Kira, after passing a bag of Doritos to Stiles like a babysitter pacifying a child, sat next to Boyd, dwarfed by his tall and broad stature.

            It was probably one of the funniest things he’d ever seen.

            He returned his attention back to Erica and Lydia, quirking an eyebrow. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

            “He did, and now he’s come back for Beacon Hills dick,” Lydia said in a matter-of-fact tone - it was a tone he was used to hearing from her, given that she was the smartest person he had ever met. “I mean, he’s wearing skinny jeans, for Pete’s sake. That’s the number one clue.”

            “Hey,” Stiles called out, overhearing their conversation.”I’m wearing skinny jeans.”

            “ _Exactly_ ,” she responded, enunciating both syllables. Erica cackled, throwing her head back and holding a hand to her chest.

            “Isaac,” Scott said, pausing near the couch and pointing behind him. “You haven’t met Malia, have you?”

            His gaze drifted in the direction Scott was pointing in to see a girl he didn’t notice was there until now. The girl - Malia - was sitting next to Kira, her long legs almost gazelle-like in her jean shorts, knee-high socks, and combat boots; aside from Stiles, she was the only other person wearing plaid. Her chestnut hair was chin length, slightly wavy with the left side tucked behind her ear. A pair of wide brown eyes rested under her sharp eyebrows, eyebrows that scrunched up suspiciously when she caught him staring.

            Isaac walked to her and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Isaac.”

            “I know,” Malia replied bluntly, shaking his hand. “Everyone’s been screaming your name for the past ten minutes.”

            “Yeah, Lydia, stop screaming,” Stiles joked, whimpering when Lydia pinched his arm. "You should be proud of me, you fiend - I could've easily made a 'That's What She Said' joke."

            The beta chuckled, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Very true. How long have you been around here?”

            “Since birth. You?”

            “Since birth.”

            There was a brief stretch of silence, the only sounds being the crunch of chips and the hiss of a soda can being cracked open. Isaac squinted at Malia, scrutinizing her lean muscle and her confident, direct gaze.

            “You’re not human,” Isaac said slowly, cocking his head. “...are you?”

            A wolfish grin spread across Malia’s face, and Isaac decided he liked her already.


End file.
